


He lives to run

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 08:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16384382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: “No!”  Bucky slams his fist down on the toilet seat.  “You just don’t want to see it.  Chemicals.  Lab shit.  Abducted scientists.  What do you think they’re doing, Steve?”  The threat of tears creeps into his tone again, along with anger and blatant obviousness.Steve sighs.  Of course he’s thought about it. He thinks about it all the time, even when Fury’s not showing them pictures from HYDRA’s trash can and telling them to go fetch.  What if they revitalized the program?  What if what happened to Bucky happens to someone else?  How would he feel about fighting them, now that he’s seen the love of his life fall apart and try desperately to pick up the pieces?_____A companion to Royal_Ermine's I, Zola, this story picks up with Buck struggling to return to superheroism after the reawakening of old trauma.





	He lives to run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Royal_Ermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I, Zola](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15481047) by [Royal_Ermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/pseuds/Royal_Ermine). 



> I’ve had these scenes in my head for a while now, but once I tried to put them on the page, they started to shape themselves around the events in Royal’s I, Zola. 
> 
> (It’s a great read, but if you don’t have time for the novel-length wonder, a basic summary is that new evidence comes to light showing that while Zola was the brains behind the winter soldier project, he was less of a monster and more of a man caught up in impossible circumstances. That’s all you really need to know in order for my fic to make sense, but if you’re looking for recs, well, there you go.)
> 
> This falls comfortably into Heroverse, even though it pulls in Royal’s missing moment/subplot. We’re still in that ‘post-CA:CW Steve and Bucky working for (reestablished) SHIELD as boyfriend heroes’ place.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @builder051

Bucky starts to pale during the pre-mission briefing.  He slumps in his chair and rests his elbows on the conference table as they watch the slideshow of maps and aerial photos of a not-entirely-decommissioned HYDRA base.  Steve steals a glance at him from the corner of his eye, then returns his attention to the presentation.

“Some of the names we’ve attached to the faces have a history,” Fury says, zooming in on a picture of a man in a black coat slinking along the perimeter fence.  It’s so grainy Steve can barely pick out his features.  He’s stopped wondering how SHIELD’s facial recognition technology works, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever cease to amaze him.  “This one’s former KBG.  With ties to Russia and Germany.”

Bucky gives a noncommittal grunt and reaches for the coffee carafe.  He tops off his cup, then stares into the dark liquid as Fury progresses to the next photo.

“Some of them, not so much.”  The director tightens up on another face.  “CalTech professors don’t have a lot of reason to be in Siberian bunkers, if you get my drift.”

Steve nods.  He’s used to jobs like this: bring back the hostages; leave the bad guys in a pile on the floor.  If there are in fact both.  He feels better about the outcome if he winds up evacuating a few civilians, but there’s something invigorating about fighting alongside Bucky, communicating in nods and glances to coordinate maneuvers they can laugh about on the plane ride home.  It reminds him of the Howling Commandos days, and even of the days before that, when they talked through baseball games as they walked home on muggy summer nights.

But there’s a long way to go before they get to that point, if they do at all.  “Any evidence they’re keeping him there against his will?” Steve asks.  He looks at Bucky again.  It feels wrong to make a bigger deal of Bucky’s trauma than Bucky does himself, but left to his own devices, Bucky would probably  never bring it up.

“Not directly, but we have reports of chemicals and lab equipment arriving at the location two weeks before Professor Carlisle did,” Fury answers.  “And this from the security camera outside his house in Pasadena.”  He advances to the next image.  A half-dozen newspapers sit strewn across the porch, along with a soggy-looking Amazon package.

“So,” Steve says slowly.  “They knew he was coming.  But he didn’t know he was leaving.”

“Exactly,” Fury says.  “Five more brilliant minds from around the country have gone missing.  Carlisle’s the only one we’ve captured on film, but it’s feasible that all of them could be here.  And with the four agents we’ve also seen, that’s ten possible opponents.”

“Or just four HYDRA with the rest as hostages,” Steve counters.

“Or any combination in between,” Fury finishes.  “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”

Bucky scoffs.  He takes a long gulp of his coffee and sets the cup down hard.  A little splashes over the edges. Steve notices he has the handle of the mug gripped in his left hand, the light glinting off his shiny silver knuckles.  His right is balled into a fist on the table.

“You ok?” Steve asks softly.

“Yeah.”  Bucky scrapes his thumb over lip of the mug, picking at a crack in the glaze.  “I’m fine.”

“Ok.”  He doesn’t push it, but Steve drops his palm over Bucky’s clenched fist.  He asks Fury, “Know what they’re trying to do?”

“No.  Not really.”  Fury flicks the slideshow forward to show a scanned image of a shipping receipt.  It’s difficult to read through creases and garbage stains.  “The chemicals are listed here.”  Fury points.  “It’s all common enough stuff.  Every hospital and university on the planet stocks the same things.  It’s like...trying to do a crossword when all you have are the blanks.  No clues, and every letter of the alphabet is up for grabs.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs.  “And we don’t go around doing searches and seizures in hospitals and universities, so, benefit of the doubt, I guess.”

“And that’s where we trust your discretion.  And your expertise.”

Bucky’s hand starts to vibrate under Steve’s, a miniscule, fast-paced tremor that carries up his arm and furthers the slouch in his shoulders.  Steve feels like he’s shaking too, though the movement he absorbs stops at his wrist.

“Buck?”  Steve strokes the back of his hand.  “What’s--?”

But he doesn’t get to finish the question.  Bucky audibly grinds his teeth, then shoves his chair back from the table and tears for the door.

“Buck, wait,” Steve calls after him, getting to his feet. But the door to the conference room slams.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “Sorry.” He looks at Fury.

“No, don’t be.” Fury raises one eyebrow. “He alright?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says. “I mean, generally, yes. But... I don’t know.”

“You know what I mean.” Fury presses a button on the wall, and the holographic screen vanishes. The room feels dark without it. “Do I need to bring in another team? Barton and Romanov are on call, but...” He shakes his head.

Steve lets out his breath. “ I don’t know,” he says again. “Give me a minute with him.” He doesn’t wait for permission to step toward the door.

Bucky stands in the hall, hunched over with his back to Steve. He keeps his head down as Steve softly says his name.

“Bucky?”  Steve approaches slowly, but not quietly.  Being a little on edge is helpful for missions, but sneaking up on him will do more harm than good now.

Bucky’s shoulders rise and fall with the rhythm of breath that comes too fast. His right hand embeds in his hair, and his left rises slowly toward the wall. Steve isn’t sure if he’s going to steady himself or punch it.

“Hey. It’s alright.” Steve reaches for him. The tips of his fingers barely brush the thick fabric of Bucky’s tactical vest, but Bucky cringes and pulls away again. A strangled noise comes from his throat, and he trips down the hall toward the bathroom.

Steve curses under his breath.  If Bucky wants privacy to get himself under control, Steve should let him have it.  It’s hard to stand in the hall and know Bucky’s falling apart on the other side of the door, but Steve’s willing to try.  For a few minutes at least.

But then Bucky starts gasping.  Then retching.  A choked string of profanities reaches Steve’s ears along with the sound of liquid hitting toilet water.  

“Aw, Buck,” Steve sighs.  He paces back and forth in front of the bathroom door.  He’ll give him five minutes. He’ll give him three.  He’ll give him ninety seconds…

Not quite a minute passes, and Steve still can’t decide on a course of action.  But then Bucky heaves again, and this time it turns to a different sound.  A primal sob that’s a hack and a wail all at once.

It doesn’t matter that Bucky locked the door.  Steve breaks the bolt with one good shove  and runs to Bucky’s side, skidding the last couple yards on his knees like a batter scrambling for home plate.  

“It’s ok,” Steve says, trying to breathe and speak at the same time.  The last thing he wants is for the franticness in his voice to feed Bucky’s panic.  “Alright.  It’s alright.”  He sweeps Bucky’s hair out of his face and strokes it down his neck.  The exposed skin above his collar is damp with clammy sweat.  

Strings of vomit and mucous hang from Bucky’s lips and sway over the toilet bowl.  His adam’s apple bobs up and down.  He draws in a quavering, wet-sounding breath and immediately begins to cough and sputter.  

“”Ok, ok, Buck.”  Steve pats him between the shoulder blades, hoping to break up whatever he’s choking on.  “Breathe.  I got you.”

Air moves audibly in and out, rattling through Bucky’s throat.  Steve’s lungs burn in sympathy.  It’s clear Bucky’s suffering physically, but Steve has no idea where he is mentally.  He wraps his hands around Bucky’s trembling biceps and presses his chest to his back, desperate to ground him.

“It’s ok,” Steve intones.  “Get your breath.  It’s ok.”

But it’s not working.  Bucky gags harshly, bringing up coffee and acid all over the toilet seat.  A low whine escapes his lips, and he breaks into a fit of deep coughs.

“Come on, Buck.  Calm down.”  It’s probably the worst thing he can say, but Steve can’t stop himself.  “Calm down, please, Buck.  Calm down.”  

He’s been to the therapy sessions.  He knows Bucky can’t help it.  He knows some words carry double meanings, encoded messages that can be intentional or not.  They can be born of cruel brainwashing or just the ebb and flow of social norms.  A lot of things might be different now from the way the were in ‘45, but the world still has a hard time with men showing their feelings.

 _But I don’t_ , Steve thinks.   _It’s fine, Buck.  I wish I could help you calm down.  I wish I could flip a switch and take it all away…_

Bucky heaves again, and this time Steve feels nauseous too.  What is he doing?  Of course he doesn’t wish that.  Taking away Bucky’s autonomy and free will is still a crime, no matter how good his intentions.  Even though he’s said none of it aloud, Steve still feels the need to apologize.

“I’m sorry.”  He dips his chin, his temple brushing past Bucky’s ear.  “I’m so sorry, Buck.”  Steve can’t think of anything else to say, so he just sits there holding him, letting his legs go numb and praying Bucky understands.  

Finally the tension begins to ease.  There’s more space between the sobs.  Bucky’s muscles loosen, and he melts into a lax heap sandwiched between Steve and the toilet.  

Steve lets out a breath of relief.  He brushes a lock of sweat-damp hair out of Bucky’s eyes, then erases a tear track from his cheek.  “Ok,” he whispers.  “You back with me?”

“Hm.”

Steve can’t help but smile.  It’s a small response, but it’s music to Steve’s ears.  Bucky may be tender and sick and in no shape for a mission, but at least Steve has him again.  “That’s good,” he whispers.

Bucky slowly reaches up to flush the toilet.  He shifts to a more upright seated position, then blinks at Steve.  He opens his mouth, his brow furrowing as he searches for words.

Steve’s working on being patient, on letting Bucky voice his thoughts at his own pace.  He’s getting better at it, but as their therapist often points out, change takes time.  It’s still easier to give him choices.  “Do you feel up to going home?” Steve asks.  “I just have to talk to Fury for a minute, then we can go.  Or we can stay here.”

“ _No_.”  The force of it surprises Steve.  Bucky’s weak and breathless, but his tone is clear.  “No...I…”  He swallows.  “We have to--”

“Buck…”  Steve shakes his head.  “You‘re not feeling good.  Someone else can go.”

“But it’s our mission,”  Bucky protests.  “I have to do it.”

“No, you don’t.”  Steve squeezes his shoulder.  “You’re allowed to turn it down.  And...this time I think you probably should.”

“But...what they’re doing, who knows how many innocent lives are at stake.”

“You’re right,” Steve says.  “We don’t know.  It’s like Fury said.  It’s a puzzle with no clues.”

“No!”  Bucky slams his fist down on the toilet seat.  “You just don’t want to see it.  Chemicals.  Lab shit.  Abducted scientists.  What do you think they’re doing, Steve?”  The threat of tears creeps into his tone again, along with anger and blatant obviousness.  

Steve sighs.  Of course he’s thought about it. He thinks about it all the time, even when Fury’s not showing them pictures from HYDRA’s trash can and telling them to go fetch.  What if they revitalized the program?  What if what happened to Bucky happens to someone else?  How would he feel about fighting them, now that he’s seen the love of his life fall apart and try desperately to pick up the pieces?

But they’re back to Bucky’s trauma again.  Steve doesn’t go there unless Bucky does first.  And now that they are there, Steve would rather stay silent.  He can’t, though.  Not with Bucky looking at him like that.

“They hurt you, Buck,” Steve says softly.  “I know you’re upset about it.”  That doesn’t begin to cover it.  “I am too.  But you don’t have to go after justice.  It matters more that you’re ok.”

“It’s not about me.”  Bucky’s voice drops to somewhere between a whisper and a growl.  “If they’re doing the same thing over again, they’ve got some new guy locked up in a cage.  Maybe some kid, maybe someone...someone like Wanda.”

Even in his less than stable state, Bucky’s playing to Steve’s sensibilities.  He knows exactly what buttons to push.  He always has.  If Steve weren’t so grateful Bucky’s communicating at all, he’d hate to admit that it’s working.  He can’t contradict him.  “Buck…”  Steve bites his lip.

“No, listen.”  Bucky’s jaw trembles.  He pulls in a congested breath, then twitches, and he suddenly has a handful of Steve’s collar clenched in his metal fist.  “They’re…  Fuck, Steve, they’re gonna do what they did to Zola.  Six times over.”  Bucky’s face is inches from Steve’s.  A vein throbs in his forehead, and moisture glistens in his eyelashes and moustache.  “Prisoners manipulated into killing their own families, it ain’t exactly new.  How many of those doctors were married, huh?  Fury didn’t feel like putting a number on that for us.”

“He might not know,” Steve murmurs.  He holds as still as he possibly can.  He trusts Bucky not to hurt him.  Not on purpose.  But Bucky’s dangerous.  He’s just as strong as Steve is, both in body and stubbornness.  They share protective instincts, too.  It makes them a good team, but it makes their conflicts bitter, each of them ending up with more defensive wounds than strikes landed.

“I don’t buy it.”  Bucky’s breathing speeds up again, puffs of warm air hitting Steve’s cheeks and making the whole room smell like fear and bile.  “I don’t fucking buy it.”

Bucky’s right.  About the whole thing, probably.  Steve’s all for innocent until proven otherwise, but Occam’s razor is enough to tell him that’s most likely not the case here.  Their worst fears about HYDRA are coming true.  And Bucky’s probably the best-equipped of all of them to take them down.  Except that he can’t, not without destroying himself.  If he does, he’s taking Steve down with him.

Fury will take one look at Bucky and declare him unfit to fly, let alone fight.  Steve’s not worried about physical danger.  It’s Bucky’s progress that’s in jeopardy.  Recovery isn’t linear; they’ve established that.  But how does he tell the beautiful, powerful man in his arms that doing the right thing is, in this case, the wrong thing?  

Bucky has the first shred of autonomy he’s had in over 70 years.  He’s just beginning to get over the stumbling block of Zola’s tape, to not look sad anymore when they walk into the SHIELD building where the doctor’s body had been found.

Steve can’t tell Bucky what to do.  His conscience won’t let him.  So he does the next best thing and closes the gap between their bodies, pulling Bucky against his chest.  He’s stiff in Steve’s arms for a moment, then his head drops to Steve’s shoulder, and the grip of his metal hand loosens until his palm is flat over Steve’s sternum.

“Sometimes,” Steve whispers, blinking back tears, “You just gotta take care of you.  And if you’re not, then I’m damn well gonna try.”

Bucky doesn’t reply.  He’s past words again, and crying into the fabric of Steve’s uniform.  But he shifts slightly, pushing upward until the top of his head fills the space below Steve’s chin.  He leaves no gap.  And no uncertainty.


End file.
